


though you were only sparring

by sylvianorth



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, M/M, Mating Rituals, Multi, angst and sappiness, messy emotionally constipated losers, references to slavery, semi bloodplay, when you cant admit your feelings so you shower them in presents, yondu is secretly sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:41:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvianorth/pseuds/sylvianorth
Summary: He sees Kraglin watching him sometimes with that strange look and it would be so like Kraglin to hear the things he doesn’t say, the things he refuses to even acknowledge to himself, to just know so Yondu scowls at him and snarls, “wipe that stupid expression off your face, boy” and Kraglin nods, “yes, sir.”





	though you were only sparring

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This fic features Kraglin and Yondu punching and hitting each other. Please be careful if that triggers or upsets you.
> 
> Title from the Joanna Newsom song "Kingfisher."

Yondu tastes metal in his mouth and spits, wiping the excess from his chin. He makes a fist and then relaxes it, but maintains his defensive pose, knees and elbows bent, hands raised, ready to lunge or run.

Kraglin, through bloodied teeth: “You ain’t as good a liar as you think you are, sir.”

 

 

-

 

 

The thing about freedom is that you have to learn to live all over again. He learns to do things he likes, reading and flying and gambling and taking his time when he eats, and he learns to stand with his shoulders back and not to hunch over, terrified and flinching at the shadows that move behind him. (Soon, he is the shadow others fear because the Ravager garb prompts, if not respect, then a certain horrified submission which causes Yondu a great pleasure after a lifetime of servitude.)

He learns what he likes: when his drink burns just right going down, the rush from a successful raid, when he has more units than he can spend, looking out the portholes at the endless stars, the feel of furs against his skin, his little trinkets, learning about other races and cultures and civilizations, the hum of the ship’s engine, a warm body curled against his.

Being a Ravager comes as natural to him as breathing and the leathers become his second skin.

 

 

-

 

 

He found a curved knife with a bone handle on the body of a fallen soldier on their latest raid, and after he cleans it, he inspects it, wondering if Kraglin would like it.

“Do you always give Kraglin shit you pick off of dead people?” Peter is slouched in his chair. He’s bored, picking at his nails. His hair is getting too long, and it’s starting to curl by his ears and his left leg is kicked out in front of him, his right bent at the knee and tapping his foot to music only he can hear. “That’s not really romantic if you ask me.”

“And I didn’t ask you, did I?” Yondu barks, wiping the blade on his coat, “Besides, romance ain’t got shit to do with it. We got an understanding, and as long as daddy’s gettin’ his rocks off – ”

It works. Peter groans loudly and covers his ears, yelling, “gross, dude” and Yondu chuckles and wraps the knife in a piece of cloth as a gift.

It’s not about romance but that doesn’t stop Yondu from resting his hand on the back of Kraglin’s neck for a beat too long or bringing him other things he pilfers on raids or when they’re planetside, things far less practical than a knife, and Kraglin is always practical and he says, “You ain’t gotta do that, boss, I ain’t got no use for this,” but Yondu can tell he’s pleased. He brings him a thin gold chain off a Shi’ar ship once that makes Kraglin grin, sharp-toothed and silver, and when he puts it around his neck, it fits snug and reminds Yondu of a slave collar (not like the ones he wore, but the ones he’d seen on Krylorian pleasure slaves, their collars were always thin and pretty but they were still collars) but Kraglin can take it off and Yondu supposes that’s the important thing. “I figured you could, y’know, sell it at our next port and get yourself something,” he says gruffly but Kraglin winds it around his bony wrist, fastening it there.

“Nah, it’s pretty,” he says, admiring how it looks. “I like it,” and he wears it like that, hidden under his sleeves and gloves. A secret.

He teaches Kraglin to read, makes him say aloud the stories Xandarian children like until his lips are numb and he mutters, “I don’t know what learnin’s got to do with being a Ravager” and Yondu whacks his knuckles with the tip of the arrow and says, “Ain’t no one gonna take serious a First Mate that can’t read” because Yondu knows, he _knows_ that some folks can smell weakness like a hound can smell fear and grab that weakness by the throat and latch on and refuse to let go, and the universe eats weak things which is why you’ve got to be the biggest, baddest, strongest out there and he raps on Kraglin’s knuckles and prompts, “next chapter.” He rewards Kraglin with strokes to his scalp when he does well and punishes him with smacks and shouts and curses and an occasional punch to the gut or nose when he gets sulky and refuses.

“No,” Yondu says when Kraglin trips over the pronunciation of _Knowhere_. “Try again,” and he raps him again, harder this time. Kraglin scowls and rubs his fingers over his bruised hand but he doesn’t verbally complain and Yondu thinks _progress_.

 

-

 

Kraglin bleeds blue and Yondu thinks _that’s me_ when he sees it, after he bites Kraglin on the back of the neck hard and stains his pale skin and red collar. Kraglin bleeds blue and has big blue eyes because Yondu thinks he is inside him, belongs there, running through his veins and showing him all the light.

He gets like that sometimes. Sappy, sentimental, stupid. He doesn’t say anything to Kraglin about it, and he drags his nails across Kraglin’s skinny chest drawing blood, drawing patterns, and licks it away with the flat of his tongue, reveling in the taste.

Once, Kraglin is in the med bay after a nasty scrape with an angry Badoon (the idiot took a blast meant for Yondu and wound up with broken ribs and a gaping hole in his stomach and Yondu can’t wait for him to get better so that he can yell at him proper for it, _don’t scare me like that ever again_ ) and Yondu checks on him once, on his way to the mess with Peter. Kraglin is asleep, pale but stable. Yondu watches his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, slow, steady.

“You and Kraglin look out for each other.” It’s not a question. Yondu raises a brow and Peter shrugs. “I mean… You know what I mean.”

“First Mate’s job is to look after the Captain.”

Peter rolls his eyes and tugs on the cord of his headphones. “You know what I mean,” he repeats, looking irritated.

 

 

-

 

 

They meet Nika in a bar called The Red Room in a city on Xandar and her face is bone white but her lips and teeth are black as pitch and her eyes wide and pale and glossy, her voice soft and pleasant. She laughs easily and moves carefully and takes a shine to both of them, letting her fingers linger on Kraglin’s arm as she laughs at something he says, and Yondu rests a hand on the small of her back when he asks her to join them for a drink somewhere more private and she agrees and the bed in the room is big and covered with a crimson bedspread. Nika sits on Yondu’s lap and he nuzzles the back of her neck and nips at her shoulders as he eases her black dress down to her waist and makes her smile. Kraglin leans against the doorframe, liquor bottle in his hand, considering the two of them and biting the inside of his cheek.

“Come over here, baby, don’t be shy,” Yondu croons, cupping one of Nika’s breasts in his hand. He can feel himself harden and he knows Kraglin wants this and he runs his thumb over her bare flesh. His hand trails down to her lap and he pulls up her dress, sliding up her thigh and pressing a finger into her. Nika makes a soft noise and spreads her legs as Yondu pumps in and out, adds a second finger. “I think my boy needs a little more encouragement, princess,” he murmurs in her ear and she gladly spreads her legs more, hitching her dress up to around her waist, rolling her hips, fucking herself on his hand.

Yondu watches Kraglin swallow. He pulls out his fingers and holds out his hand. “Have a taste, boy,” and Kraglin puts his bottle down on the table and walks over. He wraps his hand loosely around Yondu’s wrist as he takes the wet digits in his mouth, tongue gliding over them, cleaning them up before he sinks to his knees and buries his face between Nika’s legs.

She gasps appreciatively and arches her back. Yondu reaches around her and puts his hand on Kraglin’s head, petting his hair. “My boy’s got the finest mouth in all the galaxy,” he murmurs in her ear. “Ain’t that right, Krag?”

Kraglin looks up at Yondu. His lips are shiny. He licks them obscenely and gives a shy smile, cheeks staining a soft blue with his blush. “I don’t know about the galaxy, sir,” he mutters and Yondu taps his skull with his knuckles twice and motions for him to continue.

They end the night with Yondu pressed between them, Kraglin deep inside Yondu and Yondu inside Nika with her legs stretched out, ankles hooked behind Kraglin’s back, holding them tight, and Yondu comes leaning back against Kraglin’s chest, face turned to his neck, one of Kraglin’s arms wrapped securely around his chest, Kraglin’s chin on his shoulder, Kraglin’s mouth against his cheek.

And somehow, it’s different when they leave hours later, it’s strange, and they’ve taken thirds to bed before but something feels off in Yondu’s gut and he punches Kraglin in the face once they’re on the street. It catches Kraglin off guard and he doubles over cursing a blue streak and clutching his nose. He takes a swing and gets Yondu in the jaw and Yondu grabs him by the arm and hauls him into an alley and kisses him hard.

Kraglin hisses when Yondu’s nose pushes against his own but he doesn’t protest, just grabs the front of Yondu’s coat and kisses him back hungrily and Yondu turns him around, pressing him against the wall and fumbles with his pants. He yanks them down just enough to free his cock, tugs Kraglin’s pants down to his knees and he pushes one finger and then two into him, then shoves in to the root. Kraglin makes a mewling noise and pushes back to get more, his fingers scrabbling against the wall. Yondu puts one hand over Kraglin’s throat and rests the other on Kraglin’s hip. “You’re my boy,” Yondu hisses in Kraglin’s ear, “Mine,” and Kraglin nods and whimpers, nails dragging and catching on stone walls. Yondu can feel his throat bob and he could break him like this because Kraglin is strong but now he is not, he is vulnerable and fragile under his hand, he could crush his windpipe without any effort but instead he presses his lips to the back of Kraglin’s neck and shoulders, pushing in deep and groaning as he comes, biting Kraglin’s feverishly warm skin. He doesn’t pull out as he brings his hand from Kraglin’s hip to his cock, ghosting over it with his fingertips before cradling his sack in his palm. Kraglin whines and thrusts against nothing and when he moves his own hands down to touch himself, Yondu smacks them away, sinking his teeth into his shoulder.

“Captain,” Kraglin whimpers, hips bucking. “Please.”

Yondu nuzzles the crook of his neck, kissing and licking over the bites he’d made earlier. He lets Kraglin babble pleas for another few moments before getting him in a firm grip and getting him off and when Kraglin shoots all over his fingers, he holds them up and they both lick them clean, Yondu sliding his free hand under Kraglin’s shirt and resting over his quickly beating heart.

They straighten their clothes and clean up as well as they can and Kraglin fixes Yondu with a soft, strange look, brow furrowed and eyes large and questioning. Yondu rubs his jaw where Kraglin had punched it and barks, “What’re you lookin’ at, boy?”

Kraglin ducks his head and rubs at his nose, wincing when he realizes how tender it still is. “Nothing. Just you.”

“Well, quit it,” Yondu says, smacking him in the back of the head. Kraglin scowls at that and Yondu slings an arm across his shoulders as they return to the ship.

They don’t take thirds to bed nearly as often after that, for which Yondu is grateful.

 

 

-

 

 

Yondu hunts like Centaurians do, taking day trips to jungle planets where he teaches himself to read the sky and wind and the earth beneath his feet instead of maps and data, learning to trust the instincts the Kree tried to beat out of him, and soon he manages to catch fat, wriggling critters and bring them back to the ship to cook up for Kraglin.

He knows that it’s probably unusual for the rest of the crew to watch Yondu feed Kraglin by hand in the mess but he doesn’t really give a fuck. Not when Kraglin is sucking the juice off his fingers, licking the rivulets that dribble down his wrist and gives him a shy smile. “’s good,” he murmurs after Yondu feeds him a particularly big piece and despite himself, Yondu is pleased.

“You ain’t special,” Yondu insists as he carves up another piece. “You ain’t,” and Kraglin nods like he understands but there’s something else inside Yondu asking him to stay a while and Kraglin listens.

He sees Kraglin watching him sometimes with that strange look and it would be so like Kraglin to hear the things he doesn’t say, the things he refuses to even acknowledge to himself, to just _know_ so Yondu scowls at him and snarls, “wipe that stupid expression off your face, boy” and Kraglin nods, “yes, sir.”

And sometimes Kraglin has a different look on his face, one that makes him pinch his mouth and look thoughtful and under this gaze, Yondu feels exposed, embarrassed. Kraglin pinches his lips and looks like he wants to say something important but he shakes his head and more than anything, Yondu wants to know what Kraglin is thinking of and what he’d like to say. He doesn’t ask, though, because he’s afraid of what it might be.

He’s not sure when Kraglin started sleeping in his bed but, like most of whatever they had (the kisses, the sex, the gifts) it just happened: The alarm went off and Yondu awoke to Kraglin sprawled over him and he didn’t bother to shove him off so Kraglin stayed. Kraglin has nightmares sometimes and Yondu will hold him close and soothe him through them and it’s okay because Yondu gets them too and he’s been jolted awake more than once to find his head tucked under Kraglin’s chin and Kraglin drowsily rubbing circles on his back and murmuring nonsense to him and Yondu is terrified of how comfortable he feels like that.

It's fun, it’s pretending, it’s make believe like the Terran games Peter tells him about (pirates, cowboys, knights, spaceman) and Yondu wonders what will happen when he can’t pretend anymore.

It’s fun until it’s not and it’s a game until someone gets hurt and the floor is hard under Yondu’s back when Kraglin knocks his feet out from under him. Yondu is surprised but he sweeps his leg and a moment later, Kraglin is on the ground, winded. Yondu lands a punch, right in Kraglin’s mouth, but Kraglin is quick and brings his knee up. He’s at an awkward angle but he gets Yondu in the gut and follows it with the heel of his hand in Yondu’s nose.

Kraglin huffs out an angry laugh and snarls, “You ain’t as good a liar as you think you are, sir.” He staggers to his feet, bruises already blooming on his face and lip split, and stumbles out of Yondu’s cabin.

Yondu rises slowly. Kraglin had punched him in the gut before knocking him down and his ribs are sore. He holds onto the bed to steady himself and he thinks he would laugh, but his balance is precarious already.

 

 

-

 

 

Yondu holds Kraglin’s face in his hands and swipes the pad of his thumb over his black eye. Kraglin swats his hand away, irritated. “’s fine,” he insists. “It don’t hurt.”

“Didn’t ask if it did, don’t care if it does,” Yondu mutters. Kraglin scoffs and rolls his eyes but he knows what Yondu means, he always does, and it’s irritating and he tucks himself up against Yondu’s side, his head on Yondu’s shoulder.

After a moment, Kraglin sits back up. He fixes Yondu with that curious look again, but then his expression changes and he grins at him, he grins wider than Yondu has ever grinned in his life, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Stop that,” Yondu barks.

Kraglin looks away, still grinning and Yondu sighs, pulling him back down and settling his arm around him. “Asshole,” he grunts, but he says it fondly and he can feel Kraglin smile against the side of his neck.

 

 


End file.
